Jenna must not have known until she got out here about the snow. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have run. I’m an excellent tracker—I’ve tracked down criminals in crowded cities and marks hiding in packed bars. Finding a barefoot girl leaving footprints in the snow is something I could do in my sleep.
I can’t believe she ran! I thought we were doing so much better. But maybe I expected too much. After all, she’s only been with me one day, I rationalize to myself as I jog along the path she took through the trees. Sure, I know I’ve got her best interests in mind, but I’m asking her to put her life in my hands based on nothing more than my word. It was always different with my other clients—they all chose to hire me and wanted to disappear. Jenna has had this thrust upon her with no prior explanation. It makes sense that she’s spooked.
I hope the eggs are still okay. I was looking forward to that breakfast.
After a while, I notice that the footprints are getting closer together and sinking deeper into the snow. She’s starting to struggle. She’s slowing down. I’m not surprised, given that she’s barefoot. I’m starting to worry now. If I don’t find her soon, frostbite could become an issue. I’m surprised she didn’t think to steal my boots on her way out—it’s what I would have done in her position—but I guess it was a split-second decision. Maybe, if nothing else, this experience will be instructive, and she’ll think twice before she tries something like this again.
I push aside a tangle of fallen branches, forcing my way through, and she’s just a few yards ahead of me. She’s pushing through the snow like she’s wading in a deep pond, dragging her legs through the drifts. As I watch, her foot sinks so the snow reaches her hip. She pitches forward, landing on her stomach on a pile of snow.
I’m at her side before she can crawl her way out.
“Going somewhere?” I ask.
I know she’s cold and I should get her inside as quickly as possible, but my anxiety for her well-being is subsiding now that I have her in sight, and my irritation is bubbling to the surface. She put both of us at risk by taking off the way she did, not to mention the gamble she took with her own father’s life. Does she not understand the seriousness of the situation? Is she incapable of taking anything seriously? I want to ask her if she realizes she could have died out here, running barefoot through woods that we both know contain wild animals. Did she have any idea where she was going or which way would have led her back to civilization?
Jenna rolls over onto her back and meets my gaze. She’s breathing heavily, exhausted from her run. I can see fear in her eyes. As I take in her appearance, I realize she honestly believes I might do something to hurt her. Maybe the fact that she was able to relax with me last night when we were watching the movie doesn’t mean as much as I thought it did. After all, she was exhausted then, her body worn out from both travel and the shock of what she must have interpreted as a straightforward kidnapping. I’m sure she feels like she’s thinking more clearly today.
She doesn’t answer my question. She doesn’t have to. I know, and she knows I know, what she was trying to do.
“I was almost done with breakfast,” I say, even though I’m not exactly sure that’s true. “I figured you’d at least want to make your escape on a full stomach.”
“How do I know you weren’t going to poison my eggs?” she asks.
I don’t even bother with an answer. It’s a ridiculous question—of course I wasn’t going to poison the eggs. Instead, I bend over and take her hand, pulling her to her feet in the snow. Then I scoop her up in my arms and start walking back toward the cabin. She isn’t heavy, and she doesn’t struggle. I guess she’s realized running away is a useless endeavor. I’m lucky it snowed, though. If it hadn’t, I might have had a much harder time finding her given the size of these woods. We’re both lucky. She stands the best chance of survival by sticking with me. Somehow, I need to make her understand that.
“Listen,” I say. I keep my voice low on the off chance that someone is nearby, although we’ve caused such a ruckus this morning that I feel safe in thinking no one is around to hear us—they would have approached us already. “What I explained to you last night is true. There are people out here who might try to kill you. They might take you captive in order to use you against your father, which could lead to his death. The cabin is the safest place for you.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” Jenna asks. “You tell me people might take me captive, but that’s exactly what you’ve done!”
“Isn’t the devil you know better than the devil you don’t?” I ask her. “Okay, I brought you here against your will. I know that makes me hard to trust. But since we’ve gotten here, all I’ve done is given you food and a warm place to sleep. Even if I were a kidnapper—which I’m not, by the way—wouldn’t you rather be with me than with someone who might torture or kill you?”
I can see her hesitate. “But I don’t know these other people even exist,” she points out. “You could be making them up to frighten me into staying with you.”
“Why would I do that?” I ask her. “What’s my motive?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have any money on you,” I say. “I haven’t been violent or aggressive toward you in any way. I don’t have anything to gain from this, Jenna. I don’t enjoy being isolated in a cabin in the middle of nowhere any more than you do. I’m doing this to save your life.”
“Why would you care about saving my life?” she asks. “You don’t even know me.”
“I care because I’m paid to care,” I say. “This is my job. Your father paid me to protect the two of you, and I intend to do it.”
I don’t add that I’m starting to care for another reason, a much more dangerous reason. I’m starting to want her to be alive because I like her. She’s pretty and spirited and unafraid to question me even when she thinks she might be in danger. I’ve never known a girl like her before, and I’ve made plenty of girls disappear. Honestly, the fact that she tried to escape from me today, as exasperating as it is, only makes me like her more. It shows bravery and a willingness to take chances. If I can just get her to trust me, those qualities will be great assets to the two of us.
“Put me down,” Jenna says as we approach the cabin. “I can walk.”
“Are you going to run again?”
“I don’t think I could,” she says. “My feet are frozen.”
I nod and let her down, keeping one hand close to her so I can grab her if she makes a break for it. To her credit, she doesn’t. She walks calmly up the porch stairs and into the house.
I check the eggs. They’re smoky and burned—ruined.
“Looks like we’re having cold cereal for breakfast,” I say.
Jenna shrugs and sits down at the table, while I grab a bowl and fill it with lukewarm water, placing it on the floor.
“Put your feet in there,” I say. “You need to warm up or you could lose a toe.”
She cooperates. I grab a couple of blankets and wrap one around her shoulders. She drapes the other over her legs, and from underneath it, scoots her way out of her damp skirt. She passes the garment to me, and I take it to the bathroom and hang it on the side of the tub to dry. Getting her new clothes is definitely priority number one. I’ll head over to Colebrook this morning, I decide. I know now that she is a flight risk, but there’s a pair of handcuffs in my bag. I can always lock her up if I have to. She has to have something to wear.
“Joel?” she says.
“Hmm?” I’m only half paying attention, trying to decide what the best way is to get her in cuffs without pushing her away from me further. There’s no doubt she’s going to be mad about it.
“I know you want me to trust you,” she says.
I nod. There’s no denying that. “It would be better for both of us if you did.”
“But you get why that’s hard, don’t you?”
“You think I’m a kidnapper.”
“I think you might be,” she corrects me. “
It’s the kind of thing a person likes to be sure about, you know?”
I do know.
“It would just be easier,” she says, “if I felt like you were being completely honest with me. If I thought you were really telling me the truth, I could put my trust in you, and then we could move forward together.”
“I have been telling you the truth,” I say. “Everything I’ve told you is true.”
“But you haven’t told me everything,” she says. “I want to know where my father is. If I knew that, it’d be much easier to trust you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I truly am. I know she’s worried. I wish I could tell her. “I keep the map to your father close to my chest.”
She nods, and for a second I think she’s dropping the subject, but then something in her face changes, and I suddenly wonder if I’ve said too much.
Chapter 10
Joel
“You’re bleeding,” Jenna says.
“What?” I reply, but I’m not really listening to her. The eggs aren’t just burned, they’re stuck to the bottom of the pan, and I’m concerned I might not be able to use it again. I run through the list of foods I packed for our stay, trying to remember if anything else needed to be cooked in a skillet and would, therefore, be off the menu if I can’t get this one clean. Nothing comes to mind. I decide to soak the pan in hot water and try again in a few hours.
“I said you’re bleeding,” Jenna says, sounding more urgent. “Your hand.”
I look down, remembering for the first time that I cut my finger when she surprised me by running out of the house. I’ve been too distracted since then, pursuing her through the snow, to notice the blood trickling from my finger into my palm, but she’s right. The cut is still bleeding freely. One handed, I reach into the highest cupboard for the first aid kit.
“Let me help,” she says. “You can’t do that one-handed.”
I frown. “Why would you want to help?”
“You did just save my life.”
Well, at least she understands that much. I take the seat beside her at the table and turn to face her. She pours some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball and reaches for my hand.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I say.
“Don’t be a baby,” she snaps, snatching my hand. I’m surprised when her dabbing of my wound turns out to be very gentle. She clears the blood away methodically and examines the cut. “This is pretty deep.”
“I’m all right,” I say, embarrassed to show any weakness.
“I don’t think you need stitches,” she says. “But we’ll see what it looks like in a couple of hours.”
“Don’t tell me you know how to do that,” I say.
“No,” she says. “If you need stitches, you’ll have to go to a hospital.”
“And what?” I ask. “Trust you not to run away? After this morning, it’s not like you’ve given me much reason to do that.”
She cups my hand in both of hers and meets my eyes. Like lightning, the two of us are grounded together. Tethered to each other. I can’t break the eye contact she’s initiated, and it feels like she can’t either.
“I won’t run away while you’re at the hospital,” she says. I believe her.
I breathe deeply, trying to recover my senses, and take my freshly bandaged hand back from her grip. This isn’t good news.
Unless I’m much mistaken, there’s some serious chemistry between the two of us. That’s going to make things much harder. When this was just a one-way attraction on my part, I knew there was a good chance of ignoring it altogether. But if Jenna wants me too, she might try to act on that. I have my reasons for wanting to keep up the boundaries of professionalism, but she doesn’t know. She’s never seen what can happen when this kind of thing goes wrong. She’s never lost someone she was supposed to be protecting. Sure, the stakes are always high in matters of the heart, but Jenna has no idea how high they can get.
And I can’t control her. I can’t even keep her from running out of the cabin barefoot when there’s three feet of snow on the ground, for God’s sake. How can I hope to stop her from acting on her feelings, if she has them? I think she does. The way she held my hand while she was wrapping it. The way she looked into my eyes and promised to stay in the cabin so I wouldn’t be too afraid to get help if I needed it—that was respect and affection. She doesn’t trust me yet. Maybe she doesn’t even like me. But she does feel something. It can’t be denied.
And the unfortunate fact is that I’m just not that strong. If she tries something, instigates something with me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist her. Even now a part of me is wishing for her to pick up my hand again, rub circles in my palm with her thumb, bend over and examine my injury so I can feel her soft breath on my wrist. If I’m vulnerable to these relatively small interactions, how will I react if she tries to kiss me? I’ll never be able to stop her.
I get up from the table and walk over to the sink. I need to maintain the distance between us. I need to restore the boundaries. “I’m going into town today,” I say. “You need shoes and a change of clothes.”
She looks surprised. “You’re going to get them for me?”
“You can’t run,” I say. “It isn’t safe, Jenna.”
She bites her lip and nods.
“I have handcuffs,” I say, “in my bag over there. I don’t want to have to use them on you, but I need to keep you safe, and it’s too dangerous out there for you. So tell me you’ll stay in this cabin while I go into town and get your things. Tell me I don’t need to lock you up.”
She swallows hard. I can see her wrestling with herself, deciding what to say. Finally, she speaks. “Okay,” she says. “You don’t need to lock me up. I’ll stay.”
I look her in the eyes. I know I’m taking a chance. But her gaze is steady, and for some reason, I believe she’s being honest with me. It’s a small relief: the image of her in handcuffs is the last thing I need right now.
The drive to Colebrook takes about fifteen minutes, and I feel edgy the entire time. Am I making a big mistake, trusting her on her own? What if I come back and the cabin is empty? That could cause all kinds of trouble; Boetsch can make a person disappear just as thoroughly as I can, I’m sure.
And if she doesn’t fall into his hands? Well, that seems unlikely, but it’s possible she’d have the sense to go to the cops for protection. Which has about a fifty-fifty chance of success. Boetsch has infiltrated a lot of police departments in this area and has officers on his payroll. Maybe she’d get lucky. But if she did, she’d turn me in as the person who kidnapped her, and what would I say? I was just trying to make her disappear against her will so she wouldn’t be killed? Cops wouldn’t go for a story like that. They’re incapable of believing anything that isn’t blindingly obvious.
I’m itching to turn around and drive right back to the cabin, but I force myself to keep going. I think Jenna is smart. Her father told me she was. And if she is smart, she ought to know enough not to run out into the snow again. Even if she is still thinking about escape, surely she’ll wait until conditions are better. I have to believe that.
And there was something about the way she looked at me when she promised not to run. There was sincerity in her eyes. I believed her then. I hold on to that now.
Colebrook is a tiny town. Driving in, I’m not sure I’ll even be able to get the things we need here. The place looks deserted—probably because of the snow—and I can see as I drive down Main Street that several the smaller shops are closed up for the day. Most of the shops seem to be independently owned and operated, rather than part of any chain I recognize. They sell things like flowers, handcrafted candles, and comic books. Three or four coffee shops are also on this one street, which seems excessive. Where do the residents of Colebrook go to buy shoes?
Finally, at the very end of the road, I spot a chain pharmacy. It doesn’t look too big, but I’m familiar with the chain, and I know it’s probably my best bet of any place I’ve seen
in town to get the things I need. I park the car and go inside.
I know I need to pay cash; I can be tracked by my credit card, and even though it’s unlikely Boetsch will try to track me to get to Jenna or Fred Shears, it’s not a chance I’m willing to take. Fortunately, I thought ahead and withdrew several small sums from my account over the last few weeks. It’s a good habit to be in generally, in my line of work. I try to always keep some cash on me in case of emergency, but leading up to a job it’s even more important. So as I walk into the pharmacy, I’m aware of the large sum in my pocket and the fact that I can make a few purchases here and still stay off the grid.
Shoes are a top priority and the item I’m least confident about finding. Almost immediately, though, I get a lucky break. I’m wandering down the most likely aisle, strategizing that I’ll have to settle for flip-flops, which wouldn’t be much better than the heels Jenna arrived in, when I spot a pair of orthopedic shoes. They’re ugly and expensive, but they’ll cover her whole foot, and she’ll be able to walk comfortably in them. I should have asked her for her size, but I didn’t think of it, so I take a gamble that she’s a nine. I don’t think her feet are any bigger than that. We can always stuff the toes if we need to.
The rest of the clothes I’m looking for are easier to find. Nothing’s very stylish, but I find a couple of “I Heart New Hampshire” sweatshirts, some plain colored T-shirts, some leggings and track pants, and a package of cotton panties. I’ve been watching the curves under Jenna’s skirt close enough to feel confident picking her size. I toss them in my basket along with the shoes.
On my way up to the counter, I load my basket with a few things I think will make our time in the cabin more comfortable. I’ve never had to convince a client to stay with me before, but it’s important to sell Jenna on the merits of our situation. I’m thinking of it as a new challenge. The house needs to be more than safe, in other words. It’s got to be pleasant too. I’m glad I took the time to withdraw more money than I thought I’d need. It’s giving me the freedom to pick up the kind of luxury items that I hope will convince Jenna to give this a chance.
My Protector (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 5) Page 7